Holding On
by HalesieWhalesie
Summary: He was always told that he could never hold onto anything, but she was never just anything.


_Special thanks to my mother, who just happened to tease that I couldn't hold onto anything after I dropped a plate after dinner._

 _Also, warning: slight feels ahead_

* * *

When he was five years old, he dropped one of his mother's prized china plates on to the expensive marble floor.

The tableware splintered into sharp white chips, causing his mother narrow her eyes into slits and purse her perfectly painted lips. It was in the middle of one of his parents' fancy dinner parties and a complete accident on his part. However, it didn't feel that way when his mother snatched him by the arm, her claw-like nails biting into his skin, and dragged him to the kitchen. The staff was bustling about, sneaking sympathetic glances at the sweet, white-haired boy as his mother smacked him on the cheek in her form of _disciplinary action_.

"I told you not to do anything!" she spat, ignoring his visible flinch and the unshed tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry mother," he mumbled. She shook her head, her perfectly curled hair bouncing with her.

"You can never hold on to anything!" his mother shouted, exasperated. She released his arm, smoothed her dress, and stomped out, her red heels clicking on the tile floor.

The five year-old sat on a stool in the kitchen corner the rest of the evening, not a word uttered from his mouth, just silent tears shed from his ruby eyes.

* * *

When he was seven, his father insisted he was be taught the most crucial forms of business.

That failed, however, after six different tutors and a single trip to his father's company, which ended very abruptly after his father asked a seemingly simple trading question to test his son's knowledge of the family business. Instead of answering, Soul just scratched his head and shrunk ever so slightly at his father's scrutinizing stare.

"You don't know?" Mr. Evans asked after a few silent moments, rubbing his temples like he had a very persistent migraine. Soul shook his head and his father sighed. "Good God, son, you really can't hold onto anything."

The seven year-old boy said nothing as he jammed his small fists into the pockets of his black slacks.

* * *

When he was ten, his brother, Wes, let him borrow the newest piece of technology—a small silver iPod—and Soul ended up losing it.

He tore apart his bedroom, bathroom, and closet before choking down his pride and knocking on his brother's door. He felt terrible, especially since he knew his brother just got the device not even a week ago. Soul couldn't even look Wes in the eye as he told him.

"Aw, you know I can get one whenever," Wes shrugged indifferently after the younger Evans mumbled an apology.

"I know, but—," Soul said, but was cut off by his older brother letting out a small chuckle.

"Ah, man, you really can't hold onto anything, huh lil' bro?" Wes grinned, ruffling the younger boy's hair once more.

Instead of replying, the ten year-old boy turned and walked down the hallway in silence.

* * *

When he was eleven, he met Maka Albarn.

The ashy blonde girl was quiet and small, yet had a fiery personality and happened to be larger than life itself. Their relationship was rocky at first, but, as years progressed, Maka became a rock for him. She was someone to live for, to die for, and she was home. She was sunny mornings and starry nights, she was the roses and the thorns, but most importantly, she was _his_. She was his meister, his best friend, and, more recently, his girlfriend.

He was always afraid of letting her slip between his long fingers suddenly, like the plate he dropped at his parents' dinner party when he was five. He spent every moment studying her face, her thoughts, her everything, scared of not retaining every little bit about her like he did with his father when he was seven. He was terrified of losing her, like he did with Wes' iPod when he was ten.

But mostly, he was scared of not holding on.

"Are you asleep?" Maka whispered into the dark of his room, breaking him out of his troubled thoughts. She slid her arm down his slightly numb one the rested under her head, threading her little fingers through his larger ones.

"Mhmm, almost," he murmured back, kissing the nape of her neck. She let out a breathy giggle, which flipped his insides upside down and turned his knees to gelatin.

"You're a dork," she responded, and he could almost see the grin on her face burning into his mind.

"Yet you love me."

"Who said I love you?"

"You just did," Soul chuckled as Maka's hand lightly slapped his chest. He caught it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "And I love you too."

It was her turn to grab his hand gently and kiss the back of his calloused fingers. He grinned against the skin of her shoulder.

"I know," she said sleepily, releasing his fingers from her own. He wrapped his arm snugly around her hips, effectively pulling her closer on the small bed, and pressed his nose to her hair that smelled like lavender and rain.

The seventeen year-old boy stayed quiet in the dark of the night, his fears and bad memories forgotten as he clutched onto the one thing that he knew he wouldn't ever stop holding.

 _End_


End file.
